


For Your Eyes Only

by TruebornAlpha



Series: Spy vs Spy [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Assassin Stiles Stilinski, Assassins & Hitmen, Confessions, Established Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Smut, Spies & Secret Agents, Spy Scott McCall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 04:29:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6455896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TruebornAlpha/pseuds/TruebornAlpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott has lost everything, his home, best friend, and the only family he's ever known. Branded a traitor, there's nothing left to do except run. But Stiles has cornered his wounded prey and only one of them is walking out alive. </p>
<p>Or, that Sciles Spy AU!</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Your Eyes Only

_Plip_.

A single drop of blood gathered at the end of Scott’s damp tie and hung there for a long moment before splashing against the marble floor. A second followed, a slowly growing pool of red at his feet. He didn’t even turn around, a small flicker of pride weaving its way through the grief. Of course it had to be him, no one knew him better than Killshot.

“You know, I figured it out.” Scott said calmly, gesturing to the painting on the wall. “It took me a while, but it’s really obvious. That little fisherman in the corner, he’s in way over his head. He’s got people waiting for him at home, why else would he risk a storm like this all alone to bring in such a small catch? I don’t think he even caught those on his own, he probably paid someone at the market for a few they’d caught and is headed back to tell his family that he managed all on his own.” He laughed softly, another drip pinging off the marble floor. “He’s not going to make it.”

“Looks like you’ve got something in common with him then.” It was Stiles’s voice, but so ice cold that it was almost unrecognizable.

“I didn’t think you’d find me so fast. You’re better than I thought.”

“I’ve been saving this bullet for you, Wolf. I’ve been waiting a long time to put one right through your skull.” Killshot took a step forward, gun trained on Scott’s back with a steady hand.

Scott swayed to his feet and turned with a hollow smile, grotesque in his ruined bloodstained suit. Even the claws on his hands were stained with gore. “Then you shouldn’t get any closer. You know if reach you, I’ll tear you apart before you get off a single shot.”

Stiles lips peeled back in a vicious snarl, but Scott was moving before he could pull the trigger. He let loose a slab of scoured marble, the sort they sold at the gift shop in bright colors. Sparks and glass showered the ground, and Stiles backed away, hands over his head to try and shield himself. Across the hall, someone cried out in surprise. It all came together perfectly, just distracting enough to make him lose a handful of milliseconds that he left his flank open when Scott dropped a kick to his chest.

He fell down hard, sliding across floor, but Scott made a run for the gun that dropped from his hand. Killshot had a replacement before he even got to his feet, sliding to his right to get out of range, but Scott had another target. All he needed was one shot, right in the fuse box, and the museum was plunged into darkness.

The emergency lights flickered on. Half of the room was bathed in harsh fluorescents and cut apart by dark shadows. The security guards still hadn’t regrouped, and someone had just started screaming about evacuations. They had three, maybe five minutes before order was restored, and little more than that before the police were crawling all over the building. 

Scott must have thought this would be over quickly. His voice came out of nowhere.

“I’ve always wanted to have this place to myself.”

Killshot turned and fired, but all he managed to do was shatter a marble bust of some guy who was trying to look really important.

“Hey! I know you’re mad, but watch the artwork,” the spy mocked, standing just beneath an emergency light, his outline fuzzy. 

Killshot stuck to the center of the room, more pointedly aware than ever that the predator was circling. “I always hated that statue.” 

“I thought you loved it.” Scott sneered. “Guess that’s another lie to add to the list.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” Killshot tracked the movement as Scott sank back into the shadows, trying to predict where the next strike would come from. The Wolf was almost silent as he stalked across the gallery. He was injured, but a wounded animal was always the most dangerous.

“Awwww.” Scott breathed from behind him. “That almost hurt my feelings.” Two shots rang out, chasing the voice as the Wolf just laughed. The screams out in the hall grew fainter as the patrons ran from the gunfire leaving the two killers alone in the deserted museum.

Scott struck again, claws catching the deep neon from the emergency lights and flashing red. They caught Stiles’s gun, tearing it out of his hand and sending it skittering away into the darkness with the Wolf disappearing right behind. Stiles swore and crouched, working a slim stiletto blade from his shoe. The Wolf was playing with him, this was just another back and forth game to keep him alive instead of slitting his throat with those claws and ending it. If he was going to be that arrogant, then Stiles could take advantage of it.

“How long have you been playing with me? Were you trying to get me to talk or did you just get off being bent over by an enemy? I didn’t realize the Wolf was so desperate.”

There was a low growl from behind him and a heavy weight hit Stiles’s back before he could turn, sending them both crashing to the floor. “So what?” The Wolf looked almost demonic in the faint light, eyes reflecting the red neon until they seemed to glow. He bared his teeth like a feral animal, snapping close to Stiles’s face. “I’m so  _sick_  of being called a whore! If I am, what does that make you?”

Stiles kicked out, flipping the Wolf up over his head and rolling back to his feet. “Fair enough. Then how about you stop teasing and we end this, mutt?”

“I thought you like the teasing, Killshot. I always thought you were just stupid, you didn’t even notice I was using you.”

Rage and shame ignited within the Hunter and he threw himself at the Wolf, parrying deadly claws as he drove his enemy backwards. They danced through the silent gallery to music of their own ragged breathing, too in sync to strike a blow. They mirrored each other’s moves, Stiles pushing hard in his fury and Scott leading him on, a tenuous control as they fell into a rhythm.

It was a dance, sharpened by the clang of metal and woven through shadow. This close, Scott could see the sweat beaded across Stiles’s brow, hear the labored rasp when he exhaled. There were too many memories when they were just like this, pushing each other the best way they knew how, demanding too much and giving back twice as hard, and when their blades clashed, Stiles almost looked like he smiled.

And then Scott stumbled, or maybe Stiles took a turn too fast. It was impossible to tell, and in the end, it changed nothing. Stiles’s blade cut deep, twisting through the Wolf’s ribs as they collided, arms wrapped around his enemy in a mockery of an intimate embrace.

There was too much pressure on the end of his knife. The Hunter knew how far he’d gone the moment it happened, but surprise still cut across his features. It was mirrored in Scott’s eyes, and he hissed sharply, dragging in a wet breath that left his chest rattling. Blood dripped down Stiles’s hands, and this was the part where he should have twisted the knife in. This was where he finished the job, with his adversary’s throat exposed and his side undefended, but Stiles was frozen.

Scott couldn’t breathe. It made his chest pull too hard across already strained muscles, and his knees buckle every time he tried. It hurt, dear God it hurt, and he couldn’t mistake this for anything else. Darkness swarmed the corners of his vision, but it wasn’t enough to block out the horror on Stiles’s face. Scott was dying.

His body slumped forward, digging the assassin’s knife deeper into his chest, and Scott’s teeth were stained with his own blood. He was losing feeling in his hands. Everything felt too heavy and slow, and the pain wouldn’t stop, but it wasn’t over yet. Not yet. He reached up to brush blood-stained claws across Stiles’s cheeks, and he couldn’t beat back a tired, broken smile from spilling across his lips.

“Thank you.”

Killshot got his win. He’d turn this into something mocking and cruel, Scott was certain of it. In the past, he’d been guilty of the same, but for one fleeting instant, he thought he could see Stiles behind those amber eyes, and Scott missed him so damn much. Maybe this was what it felt like to come home.

He slumped into the Hunter’s arms, and when the lights flickered back on and the police stormed the building, Stiles was left holding a corpse.

“No.” It started as a whisper and grew, a furious scream that ripped its way past Stiles’s lips as they both slid to the floor in a loose embrace. “Fuck you,  _NO!_ ” It wasn’t supposed to end this way, Stiles didn’t ever really think it had an end. The Wolf was untouchable, no matter how many times they clashed, it was always a game with one of them slipping away before the killing blow. Stiles played to win, but he never thought he would. Never thought he  _could_.

The Wolf was an expert at hand to hand combat. Even wounded, there was no way he’d be sloppy enough to make such an obvious stumble unless he wanted to. This was all a ploy, the sickest sort of joke. The Hunters and Haletech were closing in on him. The Wolf had a bounty on his head that could fund a small country. He’d  _used_  Stiles, throwing his life away in Stiles’s arms and thanking him for ending it, too much of a coward to slit his own throat, hurting him one last time. Stiles hated him for this.

“Don’t you dare!” He thundered, letting Scott’s body slip down to rest against the cold marble like another piece of ruined art. “You don’t get to fucking leave. You don’t get to die like this!”  

The sound of heavy footsteps racing behind him made Killshot turned, madness in his eyes as he rounded on the police that rushed into the gallery. “ _STAY AWAY FROM HIM!”_

Nothing hurt.

Cars sounded in the distance, the harsh blast of horns and then nothing. There were birds…

Whispered words and gentled hands, they soothed even if the meaning behind them was blurred somewhere in the blank spaces and peace.

There were days, were there days? Time slipped sideways, worthless and unimportant. Things were warm and safe, the rest was muted and unimportant. There was nothing left to hold onto, but he wasn’t scared anymore. This was freedom and he embraced it. Why had he been afraid of it for so long?

_‘I’m almost done, don’t worry,’_  sneaked through his thoughts and Scott couldn’t remember being cold. Then careful hands cupped his cheek, holding him steady so he wouldn’t choke. ‘ _All they had was broccoli. You can pick your own damn soup when you’re not trying to die on me.’_

Scott drifted, until he couldn’t. The bright sunlight wouldn’t be ignored, breaking through the darkness he’d lost himself to and slowly leading him back. Scott gave a soft wheezing gasp, chest rattling for air as he moved. Pain wound its way back into his thoughts, but it was dull, an old ache of healing wounds. He blinked his eyes open, dazzled blind by the sunlight that spilled through the window. He didn’t recognize the room, thoughts still hazy with sleep, but the young man sitting beside the bed was more than familiar. Scott smiled at his boyfriend, clumsily reaching out for him but Stiles couldn’t bear the earnest expression and looked away. It was enough to bring everything crashing back and Scott jerked awake. 

He was alive.

Bandages crisscrossed his torso, like he was a patchwork doll. They tugged on his skin whenever he moved. The Hunter had put a lot of effort into keeping him from bleeding out, and there were heavy restraints across his ankles and wrists that kept him pinned in place. His claws were gone. It made Scott sick.

Throughout his long and dangerous career, the Wolf had never been caught but he knew what to expect, all the same. He used to be one of Haletech’s top interrogators. He knew more than most how much the human body could withstand before everything gave out. You always broke. Hollywood romanticized bravery and loyalty, but they had no place when you were shitting yourself in fear and praying your skin stayed on your bones. It was only a matter of time. 

The bed was soft, and Scott was drowning in a mountain of pillows. He didn’t recognize the room, but the decor screamed of luxury, from the ornate chandelier above his head to the silk pillows on the couch. It didn’t matter. The floors were marble. They’d be easy to clean up. Stiles still hadn’t looked at him.

“Where are the cameras?” His first words in who knows how long, and Scott sounded like he was speaking through a grate. Stiles jerked, as if there was any way he could be surprised.  _Killshot,_  Scott tried to remind himself and screwed his eyes shut like he could stave off the pressure behind them that way.

“Need someone around you can lie to?” The assassin snapped, but Scott didn’t have an answer for him. He watched Stiles work across the room, but Scott figured he was already screwed up without a sodium thiopental cocktail to soften him.

“This won’t work. All my information’s outdated.” Scott whispered, honest because he had no other choice. He wouldn’t be able to give the Hunters the answers they were looking for, even if he wanted to. Theo had been in charge for who knew how long by now. There was no way he’d leave a potential security risk available. He was too good for that.

“Yeah, think of how useful you’d’ve been if you hadn’t offed your boss, too.” Stiles sneered, with a mouth full of venom.

Scott tensed like he’d been slapped and sat up a little straighter, trying to school his features into something more stoic when the mere thought of Peter made his heart race and his stomach twist. The world tilted dangerously around him. Stiles looked at him like he’d never seen him before, and without a word, the assassin fled the room. He didn’t come back that night.

Days stretched out in silence as his body slowly knit itself back together. The shackles were removed in short spans where he was allowed to hobble to the bathroom to maintain what was left of his dignity and to shower, but then quickly returned. Scott submitted quietly, letting himself be chained without complaint. Without his claws, it was like the fight had gone out of him. What was the point of escape when there was nowhere left to run?

It was the waiting that was the worst. The peace was going to end, the only reason he hadn’t been killed was so he could be healthy enough to torture for information. There was no other reason that the Hunters would keep him here, they probably thought that locking him in with Killshot would weaken him. Get him to trust a man he’d fallen for and make him easier to break when the time came. Scott hated that they were right.

It was impossible not to fall into old patterns, existing together without a word. It stripped what was left of his guard, too much like the stolen days they’d spent in a life that was never theirs. It hurt to watch this stranger with his best friend’s face and Scott hated that he left himself so vulnerable. The clasps on his restraints jangled as Killshot loosened them, handing Scott a bowl.

“You okay or you need help?”

“I don’t need your help, I never did.” Scott snapped and the assassin’s face closed off again, only the smallest tightening in his jaw to show how true the barb had struck. For a second, Scott almost wanted to apologize. Killshot watched him eat and strapped him back down when he was finished, leaving Scott alone with the silence.

Scott didn’t know how long it was before he spoke again, just that he broke first. Stiles’s shadow passed beyond the open bedroom door and he chased after it, arms pulling tight against their straps. “I didn’t!”

The other man paused, stepping backwards until he was framed in the empty space. “Didn’t what?”

“I didn’t kill Peter. I know you must have heard all about it now, he probably made sure of it, but I didn’t kill him. I was set up.”

“So you leave a trail of bodies and don’t kill the one person who actually deserved it.” Stiles said, almost bored. “Doesn’t matter what you say, they all think you did it. Why bother telling me?”

Scott didn’t have an answer. At least, not one he could face Stiles with. “I thought you of all people would’ve known.”

He didn’t expect Stiles to get mad, or for him to storm into the room, teeth bared, eyes narrowed into slits, but when he spoke, it was in a snarl that twisted as sharp a knife’s edge. “The person I knew cared about people. The person I knew could see the best in anyone. The person I knew was stuck in an awful, shitty situation and was brave enough to fight his way out. I don’t know anything about you.”

Stiles’s hands were balled into fists, the same manic, vicious fury burned through his eyes as the night he’d discovered the Wolf in his bed. The spy stared it down now, his arrogance and pride stripped away, because they both wished Scott McCall had been real. 

Scott’s shoulders slumped, and he wished he could sink into these sheets. He was tired of giving, tired of fighting, tired of hating. Killshot was easier to accept when he was hiding behind a mask. “You knew as much as I did.”

Silence greeted his confession, and Scott watched his hands as Stiles’s footsteps tapped against the cold floor. He closed his door on the way out. Scott wished he didn’t miss him so much. 

He didn’t expect to see Stiles again. He couldn’t tell if he was eternally tired because of his injuries, or because his captor was pumping sedatives into his bloodstream, but he expected to sleep through the week without another glimpse of the assassin. He couldn’t have been more wrong. That night Stiles was back by his door, leading against the frame as he watched Scott with guarded eyes. It was almost enough to make him squirm.

“How did you find me?”

The question surprised Scott. Stiles had tipped his hand just that afternoon, but he’d been too stuck in his own head to put the pieces together. “I didn’t.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Stiles didn’t retreat, but he didn’t step any closer to his captive. “All those months and you didn’t have a clue? I want the truth, Wolf. How did you find me?”

“I told you I didn’t.” Scott closed his eyes against Stiles’s words, wishing he didn’t look so much like the man he used to be. “I didn’t know until that night, I thought you’d been targeting _me_.” He laughed, soft and bitter, swallowing his regret.

“I told you no more lying! You really think I’m going to believe that this whole thing was just some kind of accident and you ended up worming your way into my life without any ulterior motives? I’m not an idiot.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Stiles snarled, taking one furious step towards the man strapped to the bed before stopping himself. His hands squeezed down into fists, expression ugly and half lost in shadows. “Everything’s a fucking game to you, isn’t it? Was anything about you real?”

“I don’t know.” The truth surprised them both. Living with Stiles had made him feel human, turning a lie into something more. Scott McCall might not have ever really existed, but there were times that he forgot he’d been anything else. Stiles turned away to go and Scott’s voice broke, trying to keep him from leaving again. “I don’t know! I don’t know what I am anymore, okay? I’m compromised, I’ve been that way for a long time. I was trying to figure it out when I met you and I-I, I let things get too far. Peter was right.”

There was no reply and when Scott opened his eyes, he was surprised to see that Stiles was still in the doorway, expression unreadable in the darkness. “It wasn’t your Dad, you were talking about Peter Hale the whole time. You were going to leave him for me.”

It felt like an accusation, Stiles’s words cutting to the bone when Scott was too exposed to protect himself. He’d left himself open, of course Killshot would take aim. God, he missed the best friend he never had. “I would have left him for Stiles.”

He was doing it again, yearning for a life that never truly existed, and this time, Scott didn’t have ignorance as an excuse. He’d have thrown it all away to be the Scott that Stiles loved. An uneasy silence filled the room, and when Stiles broke it, Scott regretted ever wanting him to stay.

“So they dropped you because you couldn’t keep up? You lost your touch. Screwed up one too many times.”

“No.”

“Or maybe it was because you only like it when Hale’s tugging on your chain?” Stiles spat. “Then you get to play his good little lap dog.”

“ _No_! I left because Haletech was going to hurt people. They were going to go too far and I couldn’t let that happen because I’m not some sick monster who gets off on killing people! I’m not like them! I’m not like YOU!”

“Tell that to your marks.” 

Scott looked away. He breathed hard and shaking, straining against his restraints, a wild-eyed furious thing, and it was all because of Haletech. He didn’t want to be a killer anymore, but there was no washing the blood off his hands. Stiles knew just how to put him down. He slumped into his sheets, like a marionette with its strings cut free. Scott almost hoped Stiles lashed out harder. This time, he thought he might deserve it.

He turned away as best he could, and when he heard Stiles’s footsteps shuffling away, he almost choked on his relief. Stiles wasn’t done with him yet.

“I loved Scott McCall.” He whispered from the door way. “I would have torn this world apart to get to the people who hurt him.”

He left, and closed the door behind him with a quiet snap. 

Scott woke to a lazy afternoon. The morning had passed in a haze. He vaguely remembered breakfast, but Stiles had changed his bandages without a word, and checked his stitches with the same. The days were starting to blur together. Stiles had already left, torn from his bedside with a curse, and Scott hadn’t asked him where he was going. It didn’t matter much anyway. They weren’t really speaking.

At first, he tried to fall back asleep, content with letting the rest of the world pass him by. For once, Scott didn’t have a plan. Eventually, the Hunters would show up, but until then, he was content to wait. And sleep.

Then he noticed it, innocuous at first, tucked against the side of his bed. It was a small container, part of the medical case that Stiles always made sure to keep out in his sights. Scott recognized it immediately: the ECG repair kit. Scott could tell that machine was designed for portability. Occasionally, Stiles tweaked it, like this morning, but in his haste, he’d left it.

It was a stretch, but Scott made a play for it, twisting in his binds. When his fingers closed around it, his heart skipped a beat. The kit popped open, spilling tools across his lap, and Scott could have cried. The restraints popped off in a few seconds, and for the first time in far too long, Scott stood with no one watching him. All he had was the shirt on his back, and everything he could strip from his gilded cage. A minute passed, with Scott waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him, but it never happened.

It would be two hours before Stiles returned, and he would find Scott sitting on the living room couch, in front of the television. When Stiles burst through the door, he brought a hurricane with him.

Killshot leveled his gun at Scott’s head with a snarl, ready to put down the Wolf before he struck. Scott didn’t move, spoon still stuck in his mouth at he stared at the other man in surprise before slowly raising his bowl of cereal in the air. “Mmmf?”

The assassin paused, lowering his weapon slightly as he scanned the room for other threats. Scott was curled on the couch in wrinkled sweats and an old t-shirt, the cast offs that Stiles had brought him when he was injured. His wrists were bare, either he hadn’t found the claws or he hadn’t bothered. Stiles kept his back to the wall as he slid around to the bedroom, giving a quick look just to confirm his fears. He realized he’d left the ECG kit too close to the bed too late, rushing back an expecting nothing but an empty apartment with his captive gone.

“You’re still here.”

Scott dropped his hands, eating another spoonful of cereal. “I was hungry. You can’t expect me to just lie around all day and wait for you to get around to making me a sandwich.”

Stiles didn’t trust any of this and watched the Wolf carefully before finally putting his gun away. This had to be some kind of trap, he must have done something to the apartment or called for backup but Scott looked harmless enough, feet tucked under him as he turned back to the cooking competition on the television.

“What did you do? Why didn’t you just run?”

With a sigh, Scott set the bowl down on the coffee table and held out his hands. “Where am I supposed to go? My people want me dead, yours are waiting for the chance to break me. I was just hungry, don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

“Funny.” Stiles dropped warily into a chair. “I didn’t expect you to be such an idiot.”

“Enough.” The teasing humor was gone from Scott’s voice and he flexed his hands, missing the weight of metal tips. “If you’re going to torture me, then get on with it. I’m tired of waiting for you to get your act together and do your job. You’re going to kill me at the end of it, so why don’t I help you out since you apparently can’t even get that one simple thing right. I know what Argent was going to do with the information on that flash drive, Peter wasn’t much better. But it’s not over. The flash drive is gone, but there’s another hacker out there that knows the code and by now, he’s probably in Haletech’s hands. So we’re all fucked, congratulations. Now can we get on with it or can I go back to my show. They’re trying to make risotto to impress the judges and that never ends well.”

Stiles looked and felt like he’d been slapped, and Scott didn’t stop until the assassin was speechless. Scott quietly counted that as a victory, even if the idea of any victory made him laugh.

“That’s - no one knows that.” The best of the Hunters hadn’t been able to unearth that information. There was no way it was standing around, freeballing its way through Haletech’s ranks like an STD did through every college freshmen class in the country. The Wolf used to be the best of the best. “They let you walk away? Just like that?”

Stiles took too long to reach for the restraints his captive had so deftly unlocked. Scott looked away as he was cuffed, his hands resting primly in his lap, until Stiles held out his cereal bowl. Scott tried not to smile as he took it.

“I tried to stop Peter.” Scott said, and his heart clenched in his chest. The back of his eyes felt too hot, and he had to try again, putting more emphasis behind his words. “I stopped Peter. Then he - the Chimera killed him.”

“Because you couldn’t kill him yourself.” For once, that didn’t sound like an insult, Scott thought bitterly.

“No, Chimera has been planning this for a long time, and I just… I got in his way.“ Someone had to stop him, even if Scott couldn’t. Replacing one evil with another was far from ideal, but Scott wasn’t thinking about the world right now. He was wondering why Killshot put down his gun.

“Why?” There was a softness in Stiles’s voice that Scott couldn’t ignore. His captor was using _Stiles_ against him, or maybe he just didn’t know what he was doing and Scott knew all his tells. The spy couldn’t decide which was worse. “You were… there wasn’t anyone like the Wolf. Everyone thought it was only a matter of time before you took over Haletech, or thought you already were.”

Peter certainly dreamed of that. He’d told Scott as much. For a long time, Scott had wanted it, too. It was the ultimate way of showing his dedication. Nothing would have made Peter more proud. “I don’t know.” He repeated. Scott smiled, but it tugged across his face in an ugly grimace. “I don’t think I know much anymore. No one hurt me. No one… No one made me stop. It’s just the right thing to do. I’m tired of hurting people. I’m not him.”

Scott swallowed thickly, shaking his head and cursed under his breath. On screen, Chef Lance’s risotto was undercooked. “Is that all the Hunters want to hear?”

But then he moved in front of Scott, kneeling in between his legs. “Did he hurt you?”

He looked so much like his Stiles that it hurt and Scott could almost believe that this man cared. As much as Scott reminded himself that Stiles wasn’t real and Killshot was just manipulating his emotions, it was hard not to fall into the trap. There wasn’t a point to keep fighting, he’d given up his last secret and there was no other reason the Hunters had to keep him alive. Truth be told, it was almost a relief. He was ready to just let go.

“Only when I deserved it.” Scott said quietly, smile breaking around the edges. He reached out to brush his fingers through Stiles’s bangs, his hands clumsy in their shackles. “He was my family. Peter was like my Dad, I never had anyone else. He made me and he loved me.” His voice faltered and Scott dropped his hands back to the bowl on his lap. “At the end, he was the only one who ever really did and I betrayed him. He died knowing I disobeyed.”

Stiles caught himself before he offered too much, still wary even when his captive was in chains. When Scott leaned in, he pulled away, embarrassed at how close they came to slipping. “If you behave yourself, I’ll let you stay here instead of strapping you back down. No tricks or I’ll put a bullet in your brain.”

“Promise?” Scott rebuilt his walls brick by brick, trying to get back to that place where he was too numb to hurt anymore. He knew better than to break when he hadn’t even been touched, he should have been stronger than this but he was so tired. There wasn’t an escape for him and he was done trying.

They settled back, the mistrust easing slightly they watched the cooks on screen try their hand at dessert. Something had changed between then and Scott didn’t know what it meant, but he finished his cereal and curled up on the couch, lulled by mindless television and his never ending exhaustion. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep and found his peace from the guilt.

A hand on his shoulder roused him and Scott flailed briefly, confused and tugging on the restraints before his eyes focused on Killshot’s face. “Whu-?”

“It’s late. You should get to bed.” The assassin was unnervingly gentle as he helped Scott stand and wobble his way back towards the bedroom, pausing in the doorway. “You didn’t kill the guards at the Gala, you didn’t kill our tech even if you could have let her die. You tried to get me to kill you. You’re not what I expected.”

“That much is obvious.” Scott said dryly, shuffling into the room but Killshot kept his hand around his captive’s wrist.

“I don’t understand what you want.”

Scott wanted the impossible, but there was no way to turn back the clock or bring back the pretty lie that meant so much. Shadows played across Killshot’s face and it was easy to see Stiles in the corners of his mouth and the tilt of his chin. Scott was always a good liar, but he couldn’t keep from telling the truth every time Killshot asked. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Stiles met his eye and it felt like too much. Scott faltered, painfully aware of the distance between them and how heavy Stiles’s touch was. The silence closed around them like a physical weight, threatening to choke him. Scott tried to pull away, but Stiles wouldn’t let him.

Ever so slowly, like he was afraid Scott would break, Stiles ran his hand up his arm. It was careful and awkward. Scott’s arm was folded between them, and Stiles was too afraid to hold on, but they’d done this more times than they could remember, and Scott gasped into Stiles’s mouth so sweetly when he was drawn in. Scott shivered down to his bones, turning into Stiles like it was all he’d ever wanted.

Killshot had an arsenal on him. Even at his worst, Scott could notice, but when the cuffs came loose, all he wanted to do was wrap his arms around Stiles’s shoulders and kiss him like he would never get another chance.

A frantic need curled in his chest, threatening to swallow him whole. They were moving too fast and too slow all at once. What was once familiar had been perverted by the worst sort of secrets and lies and poisoned by nostalgia. He just wanted to be  _Scott_  again, the Scott who fell in love with his best friend, even for one more night. He didn’t know how many nights he’d have afterwards, but he wanted it to feel as real as it used to.

Stiles groaned, the hard line of his mouth demanding and eager one second than terrifyingly shy the next. All Scott could do was hold on as he as driven backwards until his knees hit the bed frame and he fell into the mattress. Stiles’s eyes were blown dark with unreadable intensity, but he was gentle as he stripped off Scott’s shirt.

It wasn’t a game anymore. Something was missing. Too much had changed. Scott didn’t know what to do when Stiles looked at him like that, like he was a puzzle that needed to be solved. The story of his failures were carved into his flesh. It had taken all that and more to exorcise the Wolf. Then Stiles leaned forward and kissed his bruises, kissed the torn flesh around his stitches and the burns that marred his dark skin, and Scott groaned, arching into his mouth as his hands slid between his legs, peeling off his pants and leaving him naked and vulnerable.

“Please.” Scott whispered, legs spread wide and trembling. His body was already marked and scarred from Killshot’s touch, but these were Stiles’s hands that traced circles against his skin and made him whole again. His hands lightly scored down the Hunter’s back, human and careful, coaxing his partner on. He wrapped his legs around Stiles’s waist, hips bucking with an urgent grind. “ _Please_.”

Stiles was more than willing to oblige. Long fingers laced with Scott’s as Stiles licked into his mouth. They shared a shaky breath as he rode down against Scott’s hips, the drag of fabric against Scott’s hard cock enough to startle a needy gasp from his swollen lips. He struggled against Stiles’s grip, demanding more as he chased Stiles’s mouth with a growl.

The assassin finally released his grip to tug the shirt up over his head and Scott dragged his hands down the muscles of Stiles’s chest. He knew every dip, every freckle. He could map this body with his eyes closed and he swallowed a sob as he shoved the feeling away. There was nothing that mattered except this one moment and how Stiles could make him feel, months of familiarity turned towards one purpose. Scott reached down to help his partner with the zipper of his pants, sliding them down and arching up to thrust his cock against the cut of Stiles’s hip.

Precum smeared across Stiles’s skin as he wrapped his hand around Scott and stroked, marveling at the eager response. Scott’s chest was ruined, black stitches and fading bruises that used to be miles of perfect brown skin, but he was still beautiful. It wasn’t treason to admit that, right? Stiles fumbled for the medical kit, striping open a tube of cream and sliding two fingers deep into Scott’s clutch. The spy jumped at the cold touch with a breathy moan, fucking down on Stiles’s hand to fill that desperate empty ache inside of him.

“Stiles…” He pleaded, a little afraid, but Stiles wouldn’t let him get far without him. He kissed him hard, pinning him against the mattress, blanketing his body with his own. Scott wanted to tell him he loved him. He wanted to tell him that Stiles was his world, that Scott would have done anything for the chance to build a life with him. He wanted to tell him that Stiles taught him how to be happy.

Stiles pulled out of him, replacing his fingers with his cock as he fucked into the heat of his body, and the spy couldn’t think. Scott trembled, back arching off the bed, his legs shaking against his partner’s hips. Stiles’s fingers were in his hair, combing through sweat-kissed strands again and again as he whispered sweet words Scott didn’t have the privilege of believing. 

_“You feel so good. I missed this. I missed you like this.”_

Stiles took Scott’s hands in his own and pinned them above his head. Scott whined, straining against his captor until he could catch him, rolling his hips in time with each filthy kiss, drawing Stiles in. His cock dragged through his body, stretching him open, leaving him aching. It was more than Scott was ever prepared for, like he was falling apart, but he didn’t have to be scared because Stiles was falling with him.

“ _Scott!”_

Scott cried out, muscles clenching down around the Hunter’s thick cock as he came, pulled over by the single word. He spilled across his stomach, white drops catching in the dark hair on Stiles’s belly and smeared as his partner pressed himself down. He fucked Scott through it with nothing but the wet sound of skin slapping skin and the harsh ragged breathing before he groaned, finding his own release in Scott’s tight body. He slowed, the last spurts of cum slick between Scott’s thighs before rolling back on the bed. They both stared at the ceiling, panting for air.

Stiles had called him Scott and for one second, they had been  _them_  again. His heart beat too fast, a little too hopeful and a little too desperate, all of his fears exposed for the world to see. The bed dipped as Stiles shifted to stand up, but Scott caught his arm, tugging him back down without a word and fitting the Hunter against his body. It was a mockery of what they used to be with Scott curled protectively around his boyfriend’s back, arm wrapped loosely around his waist. Stiles always did like to be the little spoon. When Stiles just settled back into the bed with a without complaint, Scott smiled, face pressed against the other man’s back like he’d done a hundred times before and kissing the moles freckled across his skin. 

“Please don’t go.” Scott whispered, afraid of the answer.

“I promise. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Maybe there was something real in the lie after all. He only hoped Stiles didn’t feel the tears streaking down his face. This was finally home.

But that morning, Scott woke to an empty bed, with the sins of last night still strewn across their sheets. Stiles was fully dressed and brutally composed when he walked through the door, and Scott couldn’t fight the urge to cover himself, shame painting his features. Stiles retied his restraints without a word, and left just as quietly.  
  
They barely talked after that. Every conversation was filled with stilted words while the truth hung over their heads, too heavy to ignore but too painful to speak. But sometimes, they would sit together in the living room. Scott would watch television and Stiles would pretend to read.   
  
Whatever it was that brought them together didn’t happen again. Sometimes Scott wished he could find a way to ask about it, but he didn’t now where to start. It was easy to deny, and easier to ignore.  
  
They found a rhythm of sorts as Scott’s health returned to him. He started eating more solid foods. His stitches came off. The bruises faded. Scott started handling his own first aid. Nothing with needles or scissors or anything harder than a gauze roll, but it was enough.   
  
Scott peeled the last bandage off with a wince, running his fingers over the scabbed wound as a shadow blocked his light.

“Stiles, if you’re not going to help, at least move. I can’t see what I’m doing.” He said with a sigh, but dark humor answered him.  
  
“Stiles isn’t here right now.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find Dans's awesome fics [here](http://nevertrustastilesthing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> You can read Rune's stuff [Here](http://fightingforthepack.tumblr.com/) and find her on tumblr at [ Runicscribbles](http://runicscribbles.tumblr.com)


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